


Possessed By an Angel

by AmyPond45



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a porny little scene which takes place after "I'm No Angel" (9.02). Sam is healing, thanks to Ezekiel, but he needs something only Dean can provide. Problem is, Dean can't give Sam what he needs while a certain angel is tuning in, so he has to talk Zeke into letting him have some time alone with his brother. Warning: Established Wincest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possessed By an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I wrote this before "Holy Terror," so I made up the way Dean gets Zeke to "tune out," obviously. I kinda like the Dean/Zeke thing, at least I did before Zeke turned out to be such a dick!

"Where were you last night?"

Sam was on his laptop, sitting at the long table in the bunker, when Dean walked in, coffee in hand, his hair freshly washed and still slightly damp from the shower he had just taken. Another long, hot shower.

Dean raised his eyebrows, took a sip of his coffee before answering.

"What d'ya mean? I was here," he insisted, lying transparently.

"Yeah, right, Dean," Sam huffed. "No, when I got back from my run this morning, you weren't. Your bed wasn't slept in."

"You were in my room?" Dean frowned, trying to change the subject.

Sam sighed. He knew his brother too well, and this was one of those times when he wasn't buying his shit. Something was up, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

And when Sam Winchester set his mind to something, Dean didn't have a chance.

"Did you hook up with someone last night?" Sam took the direct approach, and Dean's eyes widened in shock.

"What? No!"

Sam closed his laptop with a loud click and Dean jumped.

"So what's going on with you, Dean?" Sam insisted. "You've been jumpy and off your game ever since we got back from the trials. You're not sleeping, you're not eating, you don't want to have sex -- "

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Dean put his hand up for Sam to stop. "You've been sick, Sam. You nearly died. I need you to get well -- "

"I'm fine, Dean!" Sam exploded, jumping to his feet to demonstrate just how fine he was, from his fine-looking face, all flushed with color and topped with that healthy head of gorgeous hair, to his giant, muscled body, all flexed and fine and hard as a rock. "As I keep telling you, I've never felt better. Except for worrying about you, I'm in perfect health."

Dean shrugged, turning to go. "OK then. Gonna go fix myself some grub."

Sam watched him go with his hands on his hips, speechless.

How the hell did he do that? His master-of-denial big brother had just avoided him.

Again.

Well, that just wasn't good enough.

Following Dean into the kitchen, Sam found his brother chopping onions and peppers, his back turned to the doorway.

For a moment Sam just stood there, watching. It was really amazing how well Dean took to cooking. He'd never had a kitchen before, but since they moved into the bunker, Dean had been "nesting," as he called it, decorating his room, cleaning, and especially cooking. And Sam had to admit, it was a pleasure to watch him, not to mention tasting the delicious (and surprisingly healthy) food Dean managed to create. He didn't seem to need a cookbook, just had a natural instinct for putting flavors together. Now he was making an omelette, and Sam could feel his mouth water at the thought of the last one. Yeah, his brother really had a knack. Who knew?

"I can hear you standing there," Dean said, glancing back at Sam over his shoulder. "Want an omelette?"

Dean finished chopping the veggies, tossed them into the heated frying pan and began to sauté them.

Sam shook his head.

"Nah, I'm good," he answered, shifting uncomfortably.

Dean reached for the bowl of eggs on the counter, added them to the pan, reached for some spices.

Sam was getting hard just watching him.

To distract himself, Sam crossed to the coffee pot and poured a cup. Anything to take his eyes off the back of Dean's neck. His muscles moving under his shirt. His bare forearms. His ass.

"Sam, you're brooding," Dean accused as he flipped the omelette, letting it cook another minute before reaching for a plate, sliding it out of the pan perfectly.

Sam moved fast then, putting his coffee down so he could slip up behind Dean and press himself into his body, slipping his arms around him and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

Dean stiffened for a minute, then relaxed against him as Sam's big hands slid across his chest, hugging him against him.

"Want this," Sam murmured into his neck, kissing along his jaw to his ear. "Need you, Dean."

He slipped one hand down Dean's stomach, over the front of his jeans, giving his crotch a squeeze as he pressed his erection against Dean's ass.

Just so it was clear.

"OK, OK, Sammy," Dean murmured, tipping his head back into Sam's shoulder, closing his eyes.

Sam cupped his brother's face with his long fingers, turned his head so he could reach his mouth, kissed him as he ground himself against Dean's backside, feeling Dean's cock harden through his jeans.

For a moment Dean kissed him back, melting against his body, clearly as into this as Sam was.

But as Sam started tugging on the button of Dean's jeans, desperate to take advantage of Dean's willingness after weeks of resistance and rejection, Dean broke the kiss, twisting his face away and squirming out of Sam's arms, avoiding his eyes as he turned to push Sam away, one hand firmly against his chest.

"OK, Sam, OK," Dean muttered, his face flushed, obviously reluctant to stop, but determined at the same time.

So Sam released him, taking a step back, confusion and anger flooding his body in a rush.

"What the hell, Dean?" he demanded, breathing hard. "What's the matter with you?"

Dean raised his eyes to Sam's, winced at the hurt he saw there.

"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice low and steady.

"What?" Sam was nearly in tears. "You are talking to me! What's going on?"

Dean frowned, staring intensely now. "I need to talk to you!" he spoke commandingly, raising his voice, his green eyes boring into Sam's.

For a moment Sam's confusion intensified. Then he had the sensation of falling, of being on the edge of a cliff and suddenly slipping off. Dean's face faded as vertigo and dizziness overwhelmed him. He had a split second's awareness of passing out as something -- or someone -- flew past him with a fluttering of wings on his way down, down, down into blackness.

* * *

Dean glared at Ezekiel, staring out of his brother's hazel eyes, frowning with his brother's handsome brow. The angel touched his lips with Sam's long fingers, then ran his tongue along them, tasting.

This was getting really annoying.

"OK, look, Zeke, here's the thing," Dean said. "I know you're in Sam's head, so you know about -- about us. Our -- relationship. And the thing is, I am not -- there's no way in hell I'm gonna get it on with Sam with you watching. You understand me?"

Ezekiel blinked, dropped his hand.

Dean sighed. "But this -- monk thing isn't working for us," he continued. "Sam thinks I'm out fucking around, for godssake!"

Ezekiel tilted his head. "But you are not," he clarified.

"What? No, of course not," Dean insisted. "I just needed to get out last night. Clear my head. I took a drive, OK? I just drove."

"Your brother is worried," Ezekiel said. "He thinks he has done something wrong. He thinks he has let you down somehow, but he doesn't understand what he has done to displease you."

Dean lifted his index finger and took a step forward, shoving it almost directly into the angel's face.

"You get out of his head, OK? It's none of your business what Sam thinks."

But Ezekiel wasn't cowed. His eyes flickered away from Dean, reading Sam's mind again.

"He loves you, Dean Winchester," Ezekiel said. "He feels he cannot say it for fear you will reject him. But he misses your closeness." Ezekiel raised his eyes to Dean's again. "I believe he will heal faster if you and he could be -- intimate."

"Hey, I know how to take care of my brother, OK?" Dean was livid. "I don't need you telling me what to do. I know what he needs, I just can't give it to him right now. Because of you!"

For a moment Dean could have sworn he saw something dark smoldering in the familiar hazel eyes. Then it was gone, and Ezekiel just looked thoughtful. Dean waited.

"I can be dormant, if you wish," he said finally. "If I withdraw temporarily from Sam's soul, I will not be conscious, although he will continue to receive the benefit of my healing him."

"OK, do that," Dean nodded. "How long can you stay -- dormant?"

Ezekiel shook his head. "I am uncertain. Possibly for most of a day, but I must warn you. I will not be able to respond to your call. If something happens to Sam during that time, I may be able to help him, but I will not be conscious. I cannot predict how my dormant self will react if Sam's life is threatened, for example. It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous to who?" Dean asked. "Sam?"

"Dangerous to you, Dean," Ezekiel answered. "Or anyone else who might threaten this body."

"I can live with that," Dean answered, nodding. "Let's do it."

"Very well," Ezekiel agreed, and in the next second the light was leaving Sam's eyes and he slid to the floor, Dean's quick lunge to catch him all that kept his head from slamming into the tiles as he collapsed, unconscious.

* * *

Sam was on the floor, and Dean was kneeling next to him. His head felt like it had been split open by an axe.

"What?" Sam put his hand up to his head, expecting to find blood, but there was none. "What happened?"

Yet even now the pain was dissipating, fading as he rubbed his hand over his face and sat up. Now it was more like a hang-over.

"You passed out," Dean said, and something in his voice made Sam look closely at him. 

Dean's eyes dropped immediately.

"You must be hungrier than you thought," he said, getting up to reach for the plate on the counter with the omelette on it, still untouched.

And now pretty cold, unfortunately.

"I'll make you another one," Dean muttered, turning to collect fresh ingredients from the refrigerator.

"No, Dean," Sam started to pull himself up, felt dizzy again, stayed where he was. "I'm really not hungry."

Dean was beside him again in a flash, concern creasing his face.

"You OK?" he asked, laying his palm on Sam's forehead, checking for a temperature.

Sam shook him off.

"I'm fine," he insisted irritably, trying again to push himself up. 'I just don't understand why that keeps happening."

"Maybe you should go lie down for awhile," Dean suggested. "I could bring you some tea or something."

Sam was finally on his feet again, running his hands through his long hair, still frowning.

"No, Dean, I don't need tea," he said. "I think I found us a case."

Dean lifted his eyebrows.

"Huh," he nodded. "Okay. I'm interested, Sammy, I really am. I just think you should lie down first. Come on, I'll lie down with you. It'll be fun."

Dean started toward the door and would have walked right past Sam if he hadn't reached out and grabbed Dean's arm.

"What's gotten into you?" Sam demanded. "Dean, this has gone on long enough. If you won't tell me what's going on -- "

But instead of angrily grabbing his arm away, Dean slipped his free hand behind Sam's head and pulled his face down, pushing up against Sam's body as he pressed his mouth against Sam's.

* * *

The kiss went straight to Dean's cock, and this time he didn't hold back, pushing his tongue into Sam's mouth, lacing his fingers through his hair so he could tilt Sam's head down, deepening the kiss. He pushed his hips into Sam's so that there could be no mistaking his intentions, and Sam, God bless him, pushed back, grinding his hips into Dean's, wrapping his arms around his brother and grabbing his ass with both hands to pull him even tighter against him. Dean gave a low moan, releasing Sam's mouth so he could come up for air.

"My room," Dean rasped, mouthing Sam's neck with his lips and tongue.

"No, here," Sam argued, pushing Dean backwards till his legs hit the edge of the table. One of Sam's big hands slid down between Dean's ass cheeks, rubbing against his hole. Dean moaned, sinking his teeth into the soft crease of his brother's neck. Sam bucked against him, spreading Dean's legs and pushing him onto his back on the table, reaching down to unzip his jeans. The frenzy to undress was almost comical, sending dishes and pans crashing off the table until Dean was naked from the waist down and Sam had his throbbing dick in his hand and Sam grabbed the butter -- the fuckin' butter! -- to use as lube at the last minute and Dean's legs were around his waist and Sam was pushing into his tight hole and grunting loudly, deep guttural sounds barreling out of his massive chest as he thrust into his brother's body. Dean moaned softly as Sam's oversized dick filled his unprepared hole, squeezing his eyes tightly to hold back the tears threatening to slide out as he took the brunt of Sam's need, giving into Sam's long-pent-up desire for him, knowing he wouldn't be able to hold out long.

And he was right. With one last long thrust Sam's body tensed, then he released in one long earth-shattering bellowing yell, the sound setting off Dean's own orgasm, so that he was coming all over Sam's chest and his own as Sam spent himself deep inside Dean's body.

As Sam's body slowly relaxed he lowered himself for a moment onto Dean's chest, letting the warm juice smear them both as Dean kissed his neck, then let Sam kiss his mouth one last time before withdrawing, pulling out his softening dick with a single, deep laugh, grabbing a kitchen towel for Dean, another for himself, reaching down to pull his jeans up, handing Dean his discarded clothes from the floor.

Dean watched him as he dressed himself, grateful for that dimpled smile, something he saw so rarely any more on Sam's handsome face, now all flushed and framed by that long, disheveled hair.

"Shower?" Dean offered as he pulled himself up off the table onto wobbly legs. He would be sore for a week, he could already tell.

But it was all good.

"Ha," Sam barked out another dimpled laugh, gave his brother a smile that was almost shy. Sam liked it rough, but he always seemed a little embarrassed by his own powerful libido, and Dean had given the poor boy a real case of blue balls over the past few weeks.

He knew he would be making it up in spades over the next few hours.

Later, after another longer, slower fucking in the shower, followed by a mutual blow job on Dean's bed, followed by another fucking with Sam on the bottom this time, his big body doubled over on the bed with his dick pressed into the sheets and Dean's tongue in his ass, followed by his dick, and then one last time with Dean pressed up against the wall and Sam sucking long, hot hickies into his neck as he came inside his body again -- when the brothers were finally so exhausted by each other all they could do was collapse in a tangle of sweaty, sex-soaked limbs on the floor, Dean's bedspread half covering their naked, trembling bodies, Sam's head on Dean's chest, Dean's arms wrapped around his little brother's huge bear of a body, Sam's long fingers sliding gently through Dean's damp chest hairs, pressing soft lips into Dean's skin -- Sam's voice murmured the words Dean most loved to hear, and Dean closed his eyes, letting himself drift into a long-awaited sleep, temporarily comforted by Sam's devotion and his own, that special Winchester trust finally reestablished.

Or at least that's what Dean thought.

"Wanna see that case now?"

Dean opened his eyes to find himself lying in bed, where Sam must have put him while   
he was sleeping, which was awkward. Sam was freshly showered, dressed, and pulling on his boots, watching him from the chair beside his bed.

Sam's energy level was becoming a serious problem. Not conducive to sleep at all. At least not for Dean.

Dean rubbed his eyes, then pushed himself up halfway on his elbows to stare bleary-eyed at Sam.

"Uh, okay," Dean answered, his throat feeling sore and raw.

In fact, he was feeling pretty raw all over.

"Just give me a minute, Sam, okay?"

"Sure thing, Dean," Sam sprang up, headed to the door. "I'll be in the library whenever you're ready."


End file.
